


Your Love is Sunlight

by TooOftenObsessed



Series: Franklin Still Did Live [1]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Canon Compliant, Clothed Sex, F/M, Married Couple, Missing Scene, Porn with Feelings, Table Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 15:49:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21448714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooOftenObsessed/pseuds/TooOftenObsessed
Summary: Missing scene during the flashback on Erebus in The Terror 1.3 The Ladder. John and Jane are alone in his cabin and the mood turns racy.
Relationships: Captain Sir John Franklin/Lady Jane Franklin
Series: Franklin Still Did Live [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1631833
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17
Collections: The Terror Rarepair Week 2019





	Your Love is Sunlight

**Author's Note:**

> Serves as a prequel to my longer fix-it AU. I may turn it into a series, but I wanted to get this out for The Terror Rarepair week 2019. I know John and Jane are technically canon but there's so little content for them, I think they qualify as rare. Anyway, this fill is a belated Thirsty Thursday.
> 
> Updated to be part of a series with my other Franklin fic on 2/12/20.

"Well my dear, shall we go and see the ship today?" Lady Jane Franklin kept her tone bright, smiling at her husband over their morning tea. He grunted, clearly not listening as he absently chewed his lip. He'd been in a foul mood since returning from Somerset House the previous evening, barely speaking to her, and she was determined to shake him out of it. "John," she insisted. He finally looked at her.

"Mm?" His eyes were unfocused, troubled.

"I should like to go and see  _ Erebus _ today." She arched an eyebrow, making her repetition a declaration rather than a request, daring him to object. He tilted his head in assent, and said nothing more. She pursed her lips, wondering again what happened at the party that had darkened his mind. 

John had been anything but dour since he'd been informed of his ascension to the head of the latest - and, in Jane’s view, final - expedition in search of the Northwest Passage. He'd been chipper even through a rather grueling bout of influenza. Jane was dimly aware that there had been gossip, while he was ill, about whether or not he was fit to lead the expedition. But she knew with absolute certainty that his fatigue was due entirely to the psychic toll of their time in Australia, and he was certain to rally well before the expedition was due to set sail. 

But, while he'd remained sunny through the coughing and fevers, always favoring her with a bleary smile when she mopped the sweat from his brow, this morning he was cold and distant. She had not seen him this way since the political machinations of Van Diemen's Land had threatened to crush him; her heart twisted in anxiety to see him so vexed again.

Once he had acquiesced to her request, she asked their butler to send word out to the ship that they were coming. She’d had a few things arranged to be given as parting gifts, but decided to expedite one of her surprises in an effort to cheer him. First, though, she would need to determine the source of his melancholy, and break through it.

The ride across the city to  _ Erebus’s _ mooring afforded her just the right opportunity to pry into his mind. She sat across from him, trying to catch his eye, but he either didn’t notice or pretended not to. After several minutes of silence, she sighed heavily, theatrically even, and he turned to her in surprise before favoring her with half a smile and leaning forward to pat her hand. 

“I am sorry, my dear, I’ve been neglecting you. There’s just so much to consider before my departure, you know.” He tried to withdraw, but she gripped his hand in both of hers and leaned forward herself. 

“John, I know you. What happened at Somerset yesterday?” She fought the impulse to pepper him with more precise questions. She had her own theories about which of his colleagues might have gotten drunk and turned surley, but knew he must come to it in his own time. 

Sir John blinked rapidly a few times, his gaze falling to their joined hands, and he cleared his throat nervously. She watched his face closely, saw him move to speak, then reconsider, and catch her eyes again. 

“Janie, I’m not sure I’m…” an uncertain pause. “You know they didn’t want me.” His mouth turned down in a self-pitying grimace. She scoffed aloud, hating this tendency in him almost as much as she hated those who continuously fueled his doubts. 

“Nonsense. The Admiralty don’t know  _ what _ they want. What was said to you?” Again, she consulted her short list of social rivals, those who would see John buried in obscurity. “I mean honestly, John, they would have had Sir John Ross lead the expedition, and you know as well as I do that he’s not fit for it.” John sighed and raised his brows, breaking away from her gaze again and withdrawing his hand. 

“Sir John Ross…” Here he paused again, swallowed thickly, and stared at his hands. “He has no confidence in me.” This startled her. Ross was one of her husband’s oldest and closest friends. Surely John must have mis-interpreted, mis-understood. 

“John, honestly, I’m sure that’s not what he meant.” He looked back at her, eyes huge and hurt, and her heart broke a little to see him so shaken. 

“No? You weren’t  _ there _ , you didn’t hear him, he all but guaranteed me I would fail.” 

“Tell me exactly what he said.” Perhaps she would have to pay Sir John Ross a call. It never hurt her to get both sides of a story. Also it might provide the opportunity to correct his flawed suppositions about exactly what Sir John Franklin could accomplish, when he set his mind to it. 

By the time they arrived at the harbor, she’d wheedled the full story from him. The majority of the ride was spent bolstering his confidence. She alternately encouraged him and insulted his detractors, and gradually his mood lifted, and he smiled more freely. 

“You’re right, of course. I’m being foolish. Thank you, my love.” John took her hand and patted it lightly. “Your confidence has always been such a comfort to me, and it shall carry me through to the Pacific.” Despite his reassurance, she could still sense a shadow hovering over him, but she chose not to press him to speak about his feelings further. Not yet. 

She still couldn’t let go of her irritation at Ross’s behavior, and continued her relentless tirade against the man’s weak will as they walked down the pier towards the ship. She only realized she was walking too quickly and speaking too loudly when John removed her hand from his arm and gently touched the small of her back, pressing against her in a soft admonishment to calm herself. He smiled down at her, looking almost amused at her fervor. 

Jane was beyond embarrassment, at this stage of life, especially not when her emotions ran high in defense of the man she loved. But she took his cue, realizing anyone might have overheard. It would not do to be impolitic. She turned her attention turn to the ship that would be his home for the next two years at least. 

The chaos of the previous few weeks had all but subsided, as the ship almost fully outfitted for the voyage. Sir John helped her aboard, smiling kindly and greeting the handful workmen who were still bringing in supplies, checking equipment, and making final repairs on the upper deck. Despite their presence, things were relatively quiet, John assured her.  _ Erebus _ seemed to be waiting, ready for the journey she was about to undertake. 

The moment the deck was underfoot, Sir John changed. He held head higher, his back straighter, and every step seemed to feed his confidence. He gave her the grand tour, despite her having already been aboard when the ship stopped over in Australia. It felt different than it had then; they’d been guests before, and now every rope, every board, every brass ring, was  _ his _ . 

Standing aboard her husband’s ship, his home, his mistress, was thrilling for Jane Franklin. His whole person seemed to grow and extend, running from bow to stern with an unbroken, unspoken strength that seemed to her to be his truest self. They belonged to one another, John and  _ Erebus _ . Jane always felt in these moments an awesome, all-encompassing gratitude, to be so privileged as to slip within this wholly male domain. 

He seemed content, then, as they walked the decks. Once they were alone in his cabin, he even betrayed genuine delight at her gift. Jane had nearly collapsed in a fit of giggles at the feel of the tiny hands picking their way through her hair and across her face. Her mirth only doubled when John dryly informed her that Jacko was, in fact, female. 

It took some time for Jane to extract the little capuchin from her curls without leaving them too much in disarray. She finally tempted the monkey over to the windowsill with a handful of nuts. When she turned back to John, she saw that his melancholy had returned while she’d been preoccupied. He sat in a chair by the stove with his back to her, worrying at his handkerchief, a habit with which she was all too familiar. 

“We’ve been misunderstood, darling.” She didn’t want him to think her unfeeling; she had been with him heart and mind in Australia. “John Ross isn’t the only one.” She moved a few things out of the way of the monkey. It grew warm in the cabin, with the sun filtering in through the windows, so she shrugged out of her coat as she spoke. He nodded at her words, acknowledging her part in the drama they’d played out in the damnable southern hemisphere. It hurt her, seeing him so downtrodden again. 

Her husband's singular vice had often been called vanity by his critics, but she knew the truth. His overwhelming love of the world, all its people, creatures, and untouched frontiers, was his dominant characteristic. He simply found it hard to bear when the world refused to love him in return. 

If the world didn't love him enough, the fervor she had for him was almost too much. Before they'd grown close, she'd been afraid she would overwhelm him with the intensity of her regard. But as they'd learned one another, her attachment served only to give him strength when he felt weak. So now, she let her adoration wash over him, spinning tales of the glory she knew would shortly be his. Her optimism was infectious, bringing hope, genuine and unaffected this time, back into his expression. 

There, with his eyes shining with late morning sun streaming around his head like a halo, was the man she married. She’d always loved him best when he was like this, dreaming of the future, believing wholly in the infinite possibilities of life. Her fury at Sir John Ross vanished in an instant when he smiled to himself, a private joy directed down at his hands, which were still clutching his white handkerchief. 

Without taking a moment to even see that they were alone, she reached out and ran a hand through his hair, trailing fingers through the choppy locks and delighting as always at the haphazard softness of it. She bent to lay a kiss on his brow. He looked up at her in the same instant, and she suddenly found herself frozen, her nose brushing against his, hand buried in the hair at the nape of his neck. She felt his breath on her lips, and involuntarily parted them, all too tempted by the tantalizing prospect that lay before her. 

Their eyes locked together, and his eyebrows shot toward his hairline in nearly comical surprise before he glanced with an almost boyish shyness at the open door of the cabin. His lips quirked in a knowing, sly smile, and he quickly stood and crossed to the door in just a few strides. He ducked his head out into the narrow walkway, but, seeing no one, he spun on his heel and closed it behind him. 

She laid one hand on the table, seeking anything to hold her upright as the deck seemed to shift beneath her feet. Of course, the tilting sensation was not from the ship; in the harbor,  _ Erebus  _ was too sheltered from any currents to move perceptibly. But nevertheless, Jane felt herself tipping towards him as John stepped slowly back toward her. 

He trailed his fingertips along the table until they met hers, and she turned her hand up to clasp his. He cupped her cheek with his free hand, thumb tracing over her cheek and fingers stroking the hollow beneath her ear. His eyes still sparkled, hope and joy and maybe even mischief mingling there, and she felt as young and beautiful as ever she had. 

"Why, Janie, whatever has gotten into you?" His voice was soft and gentle, the sweet voice that belonged only to her, and as always those dulcet tones left her breathless. He kissed lightly along her jaw, letting his right hand fall to her waist and draw her body against his. She gasped at his strength and wrapped both arms around his broad shoulders, trying not to stumble as she rose on her toes, seeking his lips with hers. 

For a time, the cabin was quiet save for their breathing, for the languorous brushing of skin against skin, and the screech of gulls outside. Jane was wrapped in warmth on all sides, the sun at her back grounding her as much as did the solid heat of her husband in her arms. 

He cast a glance over his shoulder at the closed door again, his face attentive as he listened. Even in her daze she knew no one was near, and they’d hear anyone approaching long before they got close enough to knock. She turned his face back toward hers with a light press of her hand, and he looked at her, a question in his eyes. 

“Darling, I am not sure this is wise. If you wish to wait -” she cut him off with an irritated  _ tsk  _ at the very suggestion and drew him back to her. She parted her lips and sought his tongue, and had to fight back a grin when he offered her no resistance. Her mirth was swept aside by another wave of heat at the first contact, the hot slide of it, and the muffled groan it wrenched from his chest. 

His hands again fell to her waist but they pawed ineffectually at the bodice of her dress. He found a handful of skirt, the bone of a corset, the puff of a sleeve, and he growled in frustration. He made short work of the few buttons at the neck of her dress, and she bit back a moan as he nipped at the short expanse of collarbone that he had revealed. Her knees threatened to give way beneath her, though they were both still fully clothed. 

“John,” she breathed, voice trembling, then she took half a step away from him before speaking more firmly. “John. This isn’t going to work.” He turned to stare up at her, looking hurt. She shushed him before he could give voice to a question, then turned to set the little white cage on the floor before turning back to face him, both hands braced on the edge of the table. 

“Ah yes, yes I see,” he said, sounding as breathless as she had a moment ago. He seized her beneath both arms and hoisted her up, not releasing her until he was sure she was steady. He leaned to draw a hand from her ankle to hip, pushing her skirt and petticoat up above her stocking as he did so. 

His touch burned where it met her bare skin, and she was glad the room was so warm already, otherwise she might have felt terribly exposed to have her skirts up above her knees like this. Much to her surprise he knelt on the unforgiving deck to nuzzle at her inner thigh. The sensation of his lips against such tender flesh was unexpected enough, at this stage of their lovemaking, to cause her to yelp in surprise and clap a hand over her mouth. 

He chuckled, squeezed her knee, and grinned up at her. His hair was mussed, and at some point she had managed to unfasten his cravat and a few buttons on his uniform jacket. She felt herself flushing from chin to chest just looking at him, happily kneeling between her legs. Then he stood to whisper in her ear again. 

“I’m sorry, my dear, but one must work with what one is given.” To underline his point, he pulled her bare wrist to his mouth and kissed her pulse point. 

“Yes, I suppose one must,” she gasped, mourning the layers separating them. Her breasts positively ached against the confines of her chemise, but she knew the degree of effort required to free them would be too great. Instead, she mounted a more coordinated attack on his buttons. He assisted her, shrugging out of the jacket and carelessly dropping it over the chair he had previously occupied. 

She beckoned him back to her, and she anchored her legs around his hips, clinging to his neck for balance. He reached to unbutton his trousers, but paused to search her face again. 

“Are you… would you like me to…?” he stammered, unable to give voice to the desire his body had already betrayed. She had always been charmed at his courtesy; even during their honeymoon, he’d never failed to halt and be absolutely sure of her in the final moment before proceeding. Instead of answering, she took his wrist and guided it between her legs. His thick fingers brushed her lightly, and he sighed in relief at her readiness. He caught her in another rough kiss, hands busy at his waist, and in another heartbeat they were blessedly united. 

He laid her down across the top of the table, letting her prop herself up on her arms, and she hooked a leg around his thigh. The sun streamed in behind him, turning the whole day golden and soft, blurring it at the edges. Seeing him, in shirtsleeves and waistcoat, cravat loose about his neck, eyes alight, she felt younger than she had in years. She knew with every single fiber of her being that he would return to her, triumphant at last. 

"Are you comfortable, Jane?" She shifted her hips a bit, seeking to achieve the proper orientation, and once she was settled he held her under both knees to let her rest. 

Always courteous, her husband. He spent all his worry on those he cared for. He was quite unable to bear the mere possibility of harming others, even unintentionally, just as he was incapable of caution where his own well-being was concerned. This combination of reckless optimism and overriding tenderness was the very apex of his being. It is the very thing that made him a terrible politician, despite her best efforts to tutor him. 

Oh, how she loved him for it.

Fortunately, in this as in all of their endeavors, she knew well how to turn him away from hesitation. She rocked her body slightly against his, drawing forth a gasp, then another, and finally his control faltered. He leaned over her, moving in earnest at last, one hand gripping a thigh while the other traced over the barely perceptible swell of breast visible above the neckline of her dress. 

It was all she could do to stop herself from calling out his name. By this point, she was so highly sensitive, having been restricted by her clothing, that everywhere he touched her skin felt as intimate as the place where their bodies met. She clutched at his shoulders, drawing him down so that she might muffle herself against the rough woolen fabric of his waistcoat. She sensed the change in him as it approached, the telltale hitching of his breath revealing all. But then he slowed his pace, drawing out of her so slowly it was almost cruel, and let out a satisfied hum at the way she nearly whined at the sudden absence of him. 

He reached between them then, strong fingers deftly finding her center and applying pressure just so. He set a slow, almost lazy rhythm with his hips, and the counterpoint of dual stimulation set her nerves aflame. He locked his eyes with hers, watching her lose focus, and increased the tempo just a fraction right as she broke apart around him. 

He was absurdly fond of dragging out her pleasure, to watch her face with half-lidded eyes, but her patience had worn thin. She  _ needed  _ his climax to follow hers, like she needed air. She arched up to meet him, riding out the last throes of her own passion, ensuring that he felt every tremor as she softly moaned his name. 

"John, please, I want…" he nodded once, then nearly collapsed onto her, driving into her with a force that was a hair's breadth from being too much. She carded her fingers through his hair and pressed wanton kisses to his jaw, sucking lightly at the hollow beneath his ear. When his rhythm faltered again, and she picked it up herself. He cried out, startled by her vigor, and she felt herself approach the apex a second time as he filled her. 

Alas, he fell still and she fell short of reaching her peak again. Even as he lay sprawled across her, murmuring her name like a prayer, she resolved then to take full advantage of the quiet evening that lay ahead. The thought of cool sheets and flickering firelight gave her a delicious kind of anticipation. She was certain that, even if John could not manage another round - he had been ill, after all - he could be relied upon to guarantee her satisfaction, and at great length. 

He kissed her once more, then withdrew and found the cloth over which he’d been fretting earlier. He passed it to her delicately, and turned his back to offer her a moment to collect herself as he did the same. When she was ready, John took her by both hands and helped her back down onto the floor. Jane glanced over at the windowsill, and had a nasty jolt of panic when she realized that Jacko had vanished. 

“John! Where has the -” he silenced her with a finger against her lips, then pointed at the chair by the woodstove, eyes sparkling. While they had been preoccupied, the little monkey had made her way over to the spot Sir John had vacated and managed to make a nest of his hastily discarded uniform jacket. There she lay curled, fast asleep, bathed in golden sunlight.


End file.
